Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
T he Murphy mafia might not operate in the States, but their name carried weight in the underworld. Anyone with an agenda knew to turn up at Ivy Murphy’s birthday tonight—from the Callahans and the Brennans to the Corsican mafia. However, I was here to get to the bottom of the Murphys’ negotiations with the Callahan mafia.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
I should have been out there collecting intel at this very moment, not stalking this redheaded angel.
“Why are you here?” she asked, fighting the spark igniting her eyes. “To ruin my birthday?”
“I’m here for business.”
The confusion on her face flickered, but she swiftly masked it. “My brothers would never do business with you.”
The scent of strawberries filled my nostrils and I took a step back, needing some space for my own sanity. I watched her inhale slowly and then release it.
“Never say never, angel.”
“Don’t,” she snapped, fixing her best scowl on me.
“Why? Don’t you like your name, angel?”
She held my stare and crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing as her body trembled from either fury or arousal; she was impossible to read.
“I do, very much. But you seem to constantly forget it. It’s Ivy. Get a tattoo or something.”
My cock stirred in my suit pants and the beast within me stretched awake. This impact she had on me floored me every time. These last few hours in her proximity were the most I’d felt alive since I last saw her. Hell, since the first time I’d dropped to my knees before her.
“Maybe I will. I know someone who’d happily brand it on me. Maybe I’ll even have them carve it into my skin with a rusty blade—make it so when I take you, you’ll see exactly who you belong to.”
I shook my head once the words had left my mouth. What was wrong with me? Years of therapy, of learning how to control my impulses, down the drain. I blamed her for that. She looked like a fucking goddess, wearing a dress that fell down her body in silky lines, accentuating her curves. A slit up one side to mid-thigh giving me a glimpse of her long, toned legs.
“What—” She couldn’t get her words out, her cheeks flushing deep crimson to match that wild mane of hers. “Something’s wrong with you.”
I leaned forward, a merciless smile curving my lips. “You have no idea, angel. If you only knew the thoughts I’ve been having…”
Maybe if I gave her a glimpse of my darkness, she’d keep her distance.
“I hate you, Priest.”
“And I hate you.” For making me feel. “But I still want to press your face against the wall and fuck your pussy until you can’t take it anymore.”
The delicate veins in her neck thrummed and her mouth gaped, no doubt shell-shocked at my bluntness. I scraped my hand over the stubble on my chin, fighting to rein in my desire.
But then, to my surprise, she took a step closer, her eyes narrowing to slits.
“It’s you who wouldn’t be able to handle it, Christian Priest DiLustro.” The way she hissed my real name had my cock twitching. I quite liked her when she was angry. “You had your chance and you blew it. Now get out of my fucking way and stop cockblocking me.”
She sidestepped me, leaving me staring after her.
“You like her.”
My brother appeared behind me, catching me completely off guard.
“Who?” I feigned ignorance. It would be a cold day in hell before I admitted my feelings to anyone.
“The Irish princess,” he clarified, as if there were any other woman who could possibly catch my interest. “For the record, I think she’d be good for you.”
“Because she’s stolen from us, is difficult, and doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut?” I muttered. “Not to mention how awkward family gatherings would be knowing Juliette’s secret.”
Dante cleared his throat, not disagreeing, as he turned to me. “Tyran announced to anyone who would listen that you’ve staked your claim on Ivy Murphy.”
Of course the prick would. God save me from the fucking Irish.
Yet, even as I silently uttered that prayer, I knew deep down there was no saving me from this self-destructive path.
I was on my way out of Irish Pricks when someone caught my eye in one of the side rooms: Aiden Callahan. He was seated at the private bar, nursing a glass half-filled with amber liquid. Danil Popov was seated next to him, his back stiff and the two in a heated discussion.
I should leave—I knew not to start shit—but even as I told myself that, my feet headed in his direction.
I stopped in front of Aiden, my dark mood on display, and he raised his head, arching a brow.
“Priest,” he greeted me, smiling smugly. “I hear you almost danced with the birthday girl.” The challenge in those blue eyes was unmistakable. “You should snatch her while you still have the chance.”
While I contemplated whether to punch the smirk off his face or just beat him to a pulp, Danil cleared his throat.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
Neither one of us looked his way as he stood and left.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” Aiden grinned wanly at me. “Ivy Murphy has that effect, doesn’t she?”
I got the distinct feeling he was fishing for information. Rather than play into his hand, I tilted my head and rolled up my sleeves. I might have bared my teeth too, one couldn’t be sure.
“Don’t ever say her name again,” I growled.
Aiden stood abruptly and stumbled off the barstool, clearly unwilling to appear as though he was cowering. He came toe to toe with me, watching me savagely.
“What’s the matter, old man?” I taunted against my better judgment. “Can’t handle your liquor?”
He scoffed, his eyes darkening on me, and glanced down at my fisted hands.
Aemon, Ivy’s brother, must have been alerted to the commotion because he was at Aiden’s side in a heartbeat. “I don’t recall inviting you, Italian,” he spat, glaring at me.
This was about to go down.
“What the fuck is going on here?” came out of thin air.
I glanced over my shoulder, finding my brother and cousin there, ready to square off, matching snarls on their faces.
I shrugged. “This Irishman can’t handle his liquor.”
Basilio snickered. “If he had a lick of Italian blood in him, he’d have no problem. I daresay there are probably many things he can’t handle.”
A look passed between the men that I couldn’t decipher, and it set me further on edge.
“Mr. Callahan is my guest tonight. We don’t want any trouble,” Aemon hissed, eyeing us all coldly. The unspoken words— this is a Murphy party —hung in the air.
“Let him be,” Aiden muttered. “Maybe he’ll finally realize what we can all clearly see.”
My eyes darkened and I stepped forward, reaching to wrap my hand around his throat, my other fist pulled back. Suddenly, Dante grabbed my arm.
“Not in front of the women,” he warned.
“Yeah, fucker,” Aiden said with a smirk, shoving my hand away.
My eyes darted to the door, where Ivy stood staring at us, an indecipherable expression on her face. Davina, Wynter, and Juliette were there too, wide eyes darting between us.
“Just one night of peace,” Aemon hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Maybe you should attract better clientele.”
“I agree.” Aemon glared past me, at my cousin and brother, a note of warning in his voice. “I suggest you Italians find another club in Dublin to stir up trouble in.”
Basilio shook his head. “Nah, we like it here too much. Right, cuz?”
“Right.”
“Besides, one Callahan for the day was quite enough. We shouldn’t fuck around with another one,” Dante chimed in, smiling smugly. “Fuck, hopefully we didn’t hurt Tyran’s feelings.”
My brows furrowed. Dante had to be messing with Aiden. He wouldn’t be so foolish to start a war with the Callahans. Nobody was that stupid.
“If you laid a finger on Tyran, I’ll skin you alive, DiLustro,” Aiden growled, his warning increasing the tension in the room.
Basilio chuckled. “The manwhore that he and his twin are, I didn’t have to.”
Aemon sighed heavily. “Why in the fuck do all the crazies come here?”
“This isn’t over,” I warned, locking eyes with Aiden before turning to leave.
“Oh, I’m fucking counting on it, Priest.”
Aiden’s chuckle followed me out of the room.